


Imagining the Future

by jujubiest



Series: SPN One-Shots [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is a supportive husband, Dean isn't magically fixed just because he's happily married, Happily Ever After comes with some challenges, Hopeful Ending, Insomnia, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Post-Canon, Self-Doubting Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: Dean doesn’t know what to do with his life now that Chuck’s sadistic story is over. Getting Cas back and making sure he knew he was loved is as far ahead as he let himself think. But now he has Cas, and they're married. He's happier than he's ever been, and he has no idea what to do with the rest of his life.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN One-Shots [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/177362
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Imagining the Future

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me last night in the midst of a bunch of sad posting. Clearly my brain was like "enough of that it's their anniversary write something happy." And this is that? Sort of? Unbeta'd so blame me for any mistakes.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with his life now that Chuck’s sadistic story is over.

Getting Cas back, telling him he loved him? That’s as far as he thought. And he did those things, and he married Cas, and they went on a honeymoon, and he finally got to wiggle his toes into the sand and watch the sun play across Cas’s face and feel like everything was going to be okay from now on.

He just...didn’t think past that.

A job? A career? A purpose? He’s not even sure he wants one of those at first; he’s so goddamn _tired._ He’s had a purpose and a job since he was four. Maybe it’d be okay not to have either for a while.

And that works great until he gets bored and restless, and then insomnia kicks in and maybe some big fuckin’ PTSD as well, because oh god, he doesn’t know if he can do this. He never learned how to _live,_ he doesn’t know how to be a _husband,_ he never thought he was cut out for either, never thought he’d get to have either, and he’s so sure he’s going to fuck up both.

He starts staying up late. Taking long drives. He feels the worry coming off Cas and Sam and Jack in waves but doesn’t know how to tell them it’s okay when he’s not sure whether it will be.

Okay, what can he do? He’s good with cars, he could be a mechanic. He knows plenty about field medicine, he could probably get certified to be an EMT with the right background paperwork. He’d rather shoot off his own foot than be a damn cop, he loves Jody and Donna but that’s _deeply_ in spite of their day jobs. But a firefighter, he could probably do that.

He thinks longingly, fleetingly, of opening a bar. Discards it quickly as though it’s something he isn’t allowed to want.

He arrives home in the middle of the night sometimes, still too wired to sleep. One of those nights he heads to the kitchen for a beer, _just one,_ just to take the edge off so he can rest. He turns on the light and feels the guilt slam into him like a baseball bat to the stomach when he sees Cas sitting slumped over the kitchen table, staring down at his own hands.

Fingers of one hand twisting the band of silver on the other as though the ring is magic and if he turns it enough times the happiness and peace it symbolizes will return to him.

Dean collapses on the seat next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, a hand around his two hands on the table.

“’M’sorry,” he says into Cas’s hair, and Cas leans into him and turns his head to catch Dean with a kiss on the cheek, forgiveness.

“I know you’re struggling,” Cas says softly. “I wish you’d let me help.”

“Don’t know if you _can_ help with this, Cas,” Dean admits. Every instinct and habit he’s built up over a lifetime is screaming to brush it off and end this conversation before it begins, but he shoves them all down. Cas deserves better than this, better than the version of Dean he’s been getting for the last couple of weeks. Cas doesn’t argue with him, doesn’t insist he could fix it if Dean just told him what was wrong. He just slides his arm around Dean and holds him there, his touch solid and grounding. Dean feels himself relax, tension running out of him and exhaustion taking its place.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he says softly, not looking at Cas, not meeting his eyes as he confesses how fucked up he is, that he doesn’t know how to live a life not steeped in blood and uncertainty and constant danger. “I’m a hunter, it’s all I’ve ever done, but I don’t want to _be_ that anymore and I don’t know what else I’m even good for. I can’t _see_ it.”

Cas doesn’t ask him what he means. He doesn’t need to, and that’s one of the reasons Dean loves him. He never has to explain, never has to worry about being misunderstood. Not with Cas.

“You’re right that I can’t tell you what to do,” Cas says softly, the hand on Dean’s shoulder rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “I can promise that whatever you decide, I’ll be there. Nothing you choose to be will ever change that.”

It doesn’t fix things, but it does soothe a worry Dean didn’t even know he had. He leans harder into Cas’s hold and resolves that if he is nothing else, he will be a better husband.

* * *

He works on his car. He watches all the TV shows he never had time to see with the world always ending. He takes Jack fishing. He gets good enough at signing that he can have whole conversations with Eileen where neither of them speak aloud. He cooks for his family, tries out new recipes, even learns some vegetarian dishes for Sam.

He limits himself to one beer at dinner. He goes to bed with Cas every night even if he isn’t sleepy. If he really can’t sleep, he reads in bed with one hand holding his book and the other alternating between page-turning and running through Cas’s hair.

When he really can’t sleep and needs a drive, Cas goes with him. The first few times Dean protests, says his insomnia is no reason for Cas to fuck up his sleep schedule too. Cas’s only response is to slide into the passenger seat of the Impala and stare pointedly until Dean gets in and starts driving. They never have a destination, just drive with the windows down and the music on, an odd mix of power ballads, mournful old country songs, and whatever Cas happens to be into at the moment.

Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they sing along to the radio. Sometimes Cas falls asleep with his head pillowed on his jacket against the passenger side window. Sometimes he undoes his seat belt and slides across to lean against Dean’s side and capture the hand he isn’t using the drive.

Sometimes the simple comfort of Cas’s warmth turns hotter, turns to wanting, and Dean pulls over on the side of the road to pull his angel into his arms and do things that would probably get them arrested if they ever got caught.

Most of the time they’re back home within an hour or two, both sleepy and smiling and ready to curl up in their bed at last.

Once, only once, Dean keeps driving all the way through to morning.

He only stops when he sees it: a dilapidated little building on the side of the old state highway, small and squat with shutters hanging crooked off the windows and peeling yellow walls.

It’s a sad sight, something that clearly used to be lovely left to weather and rot away from neglect. Something broken and living, hollowed out, long past its purpose.

Dean loves it immediately. He sees what it can be, in his mind’s eye. Sees what it will look like with someone to love it and show it some care and patience. He wants to be that someone.

He puts the car in park and reaches out to shake Cas awake.

“Hey,” he says. “Wake up sunshine, I found it.”

Cas grumbles his way to consciousness and looks around, confused, clearly expecting to be back home in the bunker. He blinks at the unlovely building and then turns to Dean. He doesn’t ask what Dean has found. He does smile at the excitement in Dean’s eyes.

He demands coffee, and breakfast, and for Dean to tell him what he’s thinking. Dean obliges on all three counts.


End file.
